


all i wanted was you

by spaceburgers



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Porn, Body Worship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mild Hurt/Comfort, iwaizumi tops by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceburgers/pseuds/spaceburgers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i wanted was you

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying out a different style so this is VASTLY different from the usual fluffy crap i write. using the Angst and Porn tag on this fic gave me such a rush. in any case, it's still a little rough around the edges because i'm not quite used to this style just yet, but nonetheless i hope you enjoy!
> 
> for [isa](http://mochizou.tumblr.com/), who came up with the idea of fwb!iwaoi in the first place.

Hajime doesn’t want to think too closely about how it started – there was a party, and a red paper cup clutched between his hands, and bad alcohol that burned his throat as it went down. There was a stranger, dark hair and wide eyes and a smile that promised any number of Hajime’s dirty daydreams come to life if only he just went with him – which Hajime did, in the end, tripping over his own feet on the way to an unfamiliar dorm room.

There was a night he only remembers patches of, a morning after that was weirdly not awkward. There were names exchanged and phone numbers given, and now Hajime is here, letting this beautiful stranger – and he is still just a stranger, really, even though his number now sits comfortably in Hajime’s contact list, wedged between _Tomoko_ and _Tsuyoshi_   – press him into his bed and scrape his teeth over Hajime’s neck until he’s gasping for air.

“Tooru—” he gasps, and he can feel Tooru’s breath fanning over his neck, hot and needy, teeth worrying into that spot at the juncture between shoulder and neck before soothing the sensitive area over with his tongue, repeating the process over and over again until Hajime’s back is arching off the bed, hips twitching under Tooru’s hold.

“C’mon,” he groans, “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” one arm thrown over his eyes, and Tooru laughs, low and breathless, whispers, “So impatient, Hajime” before he’s sliding down, trailing kisses down Hajime’s chest, down to his navel and then lower still. Hajime barely has time to catch his breath before Tooru’s _there_ , lips wrapped around the tip of his length, mouth hot and eyes dark. Hajime swears, hips thrusting up roughly, and Tooru presses him down again, fingernails digging into his skin, and Hajime groans, partly out of frustration and partly out of – well, something else completely. It’s so good, the feeling of Tooru’s hands and Tooru’s mouth and Tooru’s lips, and it’s moments like these that he stops trying to wonder about the ethics behind this arrangement, stops thinking about anything at all entirely, his entire world narrowing down to the sensation of Tooru mouth on his skin.

It’s dirty, it’s insane, it’s every high school fantasy and embarrassing wet dream that Hajime didn’t even know he ever had. It’s _obscene_ , how how pliant Tooru gets, how willing he is to hollow his cheeks and lick a languid stripe from the base to the tip, letting Hajime feel the outline of his own dick through Tooru’s cheek, how he fixes Hajime with an unwavering gaze – dark, magnetic, hypnotic – as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

And – and god, he’s just a goddamn _tease_ , constantly pushing Hajime to the brink before taking things down a notch, alternating between viciousness and gentleness, and this isn’t the first time, or the second time, or even the tenth time he’s done this, but it still makes Hajime swear roughly, doesn’t stop the litany of curses and the _god damn it, Tooru_ that slips past his lips, and Tooru just hums in response, the vibrations shooting straight through his cock directly to his brain, makes Hajime’s back arch up again, fingers gripping the sheets.

“ _Tooru_ ,” Hajime hisses again, eyes screwing shut. “Tooru, I’m – _ah_ – I’m _close_ ,” he grits out, urgent and breathless, as if Tooru doesn’t already know it, as if Tooru doesn’t have Hajime wrapped completely around his finger, as if he’s not pressing Hajime to his bed and turning him into a complete wreck with just the heat of his mouth and the twist of his tongue –

And then Tooru shifts, taking Hajime deeper than he’s ever before, and Hajime gasps, can’t help it at all when he lets out a shout of surprise and comes down Tooru’s throat, shuddering through the tremors that rock his entire being; and when he finally comes back to himself it’s to the sight of Tooru, on his knees, head tilted back and eyes closed, jerking himself off with hurried, clumsy strokes. Before Hajime can even think of knocking Tooru’s hand away and doing it himself he’s already gone, Hajime’s name on his lips as his back bends like a bow, spattering Hajime’s chest with come.

Then he collapses, landing next to Hajime, chest rising up and down as he breathes heavily, trying to catch his breath.

It’s silent after that – just the sound of their breathing in the quiet of the night.

Hajime’s the one to break the peace first, getting up to grab the box of tissues on his nightstand, cleaning the mess off his chest with a faint look of disgust. Tooru catches his eye, and he grins, getting off the bed to put his clothes back on.

“See ya, Hajime,” he says when he’s done, slipping on his shoes, receiving a cursory nod and a grunt in reply, and then he’s gone, shutting the door behind him.

Hajime just lies there, throwing an arm over his eyes, the air suddenly stale and cold.

-

Hajime considers himself a pretty average guy. Average family background, average grades, average looks, and now, here, in a perfectly average university.

None of that explains why he finds himself having casual sex on a regular basis with a beautiful boy with a wicked grin and eyes that tell of secret depths. Truth be told, Hajime doesn’t know anything about him, apart from his name – Tooru – and his major – theatre – and the fact that he’s absurdly good at blowjobs – Hajime doesn’t want to think about where he picked up that particular skill from.

Their conversations don’t go further than agreeing where and when to meet. When they do meet up they fall into each other straightaway – no _hello_ s, no _how have you been_ s. Tooru just walks into the room, shuts the door behind him, and then slides a hand up Hajime’s shirt. And when the deed is over, Tooru just slips on his clothes and leaves, bidding Hajime goodbye before he does, and – well, and that’s it, really.

And Hajime should be okay with this arrangement. He’s not a prude, he knows how it goes, and figures that it’s not really _wrong_ to have an arrangement like theirs. It’s… mutually beneficial, he guesses. It’s just an agreement of convenience, honestly, when it comes right down to it. That’s all there is to it – two college kids looking for casual, no-strings-attached sex.

Or so Hajime tries to reason with himself. It doesn't explain why lately, every single time Tooru leaves, he finds himself with an empty feeling in his chest, or why he’s been feeling a strange sense of urgency whenever they meet up, far too heated, far too desperate.

He tells himself there’s no reason to be feeling unhappy about it. He’s having regular sex, _great_ regular sex, and he’s already determined that he has no moral qualms with having a fuck buddy, which is why he should stop feeling this way and just go back to how things were when they’d first started out, that rush that ran through Hajime’s veins every time Tooru looked at him and smiled like a promise.

Hajime’s not stupid, though. He knows things aren’t okay. He knows the real reason for that empty feeling, knows it’s not because of the arrangement itself.

It’s because he wants _more_ than that.

(Like hell he’s going to admit it, though – not to himself, and most definitely not to Tooru.)

-

Hajime woke up on a quiet Saturday morning with a pounding headache and the feeling that some woodland creature had just died in his mouth.

It took a moment for him to realize that a) this wasn’t his bed, b) this wasn’t his dorm room, and c) he was currently very, very naked.

And then the memories of the night before hit him squarely in the face, and he sunk back down into the soiled sheets, flashes of crap alcohol and a sultry smile and someone’s lips on his thighs whirling through his brain like a kaleidoscope of _totally fucked_.

And then the door to the bedroom opened and someone peeked in.

Hajime remembered him, at least, if little else. But then he thought about it, and it occurred to him that he knew very little about the basic facts of the stranger standing in the doorway, and very, very much about the more intimate details of their encounter, which was – well. Awkward, to say the least.

“Hi,” the stranger said, and Hajime panicked, trying to remember his name – _it starts with a T_ , he thought to himself, _T… Tooru. I think it was Tooru_.

“Hey,” Hajime answered, going for impassivity but probably failing – he was suddenly aware of the heat of his cheeks, suddenly self-conscious that under the blanket that was pulled up to his chest he was completely and totally naked (plus the fact that, if his memory wasn’t failing him, he’d fucked this stranger about four times last night before passing out, so.)

“Um,” the guy who was probably called Tooru said. “So. Last night happened.”

“It did,” Hajime agreed, not quite sure where this conversation was heading.

There was a brief pause, and then probably-Tooru smiled and said,

“Would you mind that happening again, some time in the near future?”

And Hajime looked at him, his tousled hair and his dark eyes and the red of his lips, and he couldn’t think of any reason at all to reject the offer.

“No,” he said, and Tooru(?) grinned, leaning against the doorway.

“Great.”

Then there was another silence, longer this time, before maybe-Tooru took a deep breath, pressed his palm against the wood of the door, and said, a little embarrassedly,

“By the way – what’s your name again?”

-

It’s a quiet Friday night. They’re lying next to each other on Hajime’s bed, not touching, not holding, keeping a careful distance between them.

Then Hajime makes the mistake of rolling over and immediately seeing Tooru staring right back at him.

“What,” he says, blurting it out on instinct, the surprise pulling the word out of him without a thought. It takes a moment for him to realize how brusque it sounds, and another longer moment to realize that he has no idea how to talk to Tooru.

“Nothing,” Tooru murmurs, his voice quiet.

Tooru doesn’t turn away, though, keeps on staring. Hajime doesn’t move, can barely even breathe.

It occurs to him that he’s never had a chance to look, really look at Tooru properly like this before, to observe the way his hair spills onto the pillow underneath his head, or to appreciate just how long Tooru’s eyelashes are.

It’s mesmerizing – Hajime finds he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away.

It’s at that exact moment that he realizes, with a blinding clarity, that he doesn’t want Tooru to just put on his clothes and leave. He wants Tooru to stay, to cuddle up close to Hajime and throw his arms around his waist, to press a kiss to his forehead and fall asleep tangled up in each other. He wants to wake up in the morning with Tooru still there next to him, nestled in the space between his arms.

He thinks he might have actually, accidentally fallen in lo—

“I think we should stop seeing each other for a while,” Tooru says, and Hajime’s heart plummets straight down into this gut.

“What? Why?” he says, not even caring how pinched his voice sounds. Tooru’s rolled back over by this point, pulling himself into a sitting position so Hajime can’t study his face any longer – but that also means that Tooru can’t see his face either, which is good, because Hajime has no idea what kind of expression he must be making right now.

“I have a show coming up,” Tooru says, and he’s calm, his voice is so, so calm, the direct opposite of what Hajime’s feeling right now, “and I need to dedicate more time to it – and…” He pauses then, inhaling sharply, and Hajime doesn’t breathe.

“…I’m not too sure if… well, if _this_ is really working out well for me.”

“Oh,” Hajime says.

He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut.

“It’s not that I don't like you,” Tooru goes on, as if his words are actually doing anything but making Hajime feel like his chest is caving in on him. “I just don’t know if I can keep doing _this_ , in the long-term.”

And oh, Hajime should’ve known that this would happen, eventually, if not now then two weeks, one month, half a year later. It’s stupid to even think that this could possibly go on forever – of course Tooru would get tired of him eventually, beautiful, magnetic Tooru, who’s probably already found someone else to fuck by now.

Hajime nods, slowly, mechanically.

“Sure,” he says, sounding deceptively calm, even to his own ears. “I’m fine with that.”

“You are?” Tooru says, quickly, and Hajime turns to look at him, only to see him smoothen his surprised expression back into one of impassivity.

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

There’s silence then, for a brief moment. Hajime doesn’t look at Tooru.

“Of course,” he finally says. “Alright then.”

This time, Tooru doesn’t even bother bidding Hajime goodbye before he leaves.

It takes a long, long time for Hajime to fall asleep that night.

-

The first time they met up since that first drunken encounter was in Hajime’s room on a Friday night.

It would be a lie to say that Hajime hadn’t spent a good two hours prior to their arranged meeting time just pacing his room and clearing it up and making sure his sheets were clean, and – well. He had no idea how these things were supposed to go, and he was pretty sure _cleaning your room_ fell squarely under the category of “things you probably shouldn’t have to do”. Still, it didn’t stop him from throwing his dirty laundry into the closet in the hopes that Tooru wouldn’t notice.

And when the boy in question had arrived, looking effortlessly beautiful in a sweatshirt and jeans, anything Hajime might have planned on saying immediately died in the back of his throat before they even had a chance of getting out of his mouth.

“Hey,” Tooru said, smiling easily, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Hey,” Hajime answered back, his throat suddenly inexplicably dry.

Then Tooru crossed the room in three quick strides, pushed Hajime onto the bed, and the rest – well, the rest was history.

-

Hajime mopes for a week before he decides it’s not worth it.

He still sees Tooru, sometimes, in the hallways. It’s inevitable – their schedules are so similar, even despite their vastly different majors, and it’s not a very big school anyway. Still, they never acknowledged each other before, and there’s no reason to start doing it now.

He starts hanging out with his classmates more often. He makes an effort to speak to the pretty girl who always sits two rows in front of him for their lectures. He goes to another party and gets drunk. Nothing comes out of it – he just wakes up in the morning, alone, in his own bed, with a headache that could probably kill a lesser man.

It takes another week after that before Hajime starts seeing posters for the drama department’s spring production plastered all around the school – all bearing a solo shot of Tooru against a white backdrop, looking directly at the camera, those deep, deep eyes that Hajime wishes he could forget staring right back at him, a shadow of a smile dancing across his lips.

Maybe it’s fate. Or maybe it’s just plain bad luck.

Either way, it doesn't make Hajime feel any better about himself.

-

A month passes. Hajime can’t walk six feet without seeing Tooru’s face on a poster plastered against another corner, another bulletin board, another door.

He thinks he might be going insane.

-

It was probably by the fifth or sixth time they did this that they started falling into some kind of twisted, fucked up rhythm.

 _You free tomorrow night?_ Tooru would text, and Hajime would reply _Yes_ more often than not, because the sad fact of the matter was that he had practically no social life to speak of, just a few good friends who weren’t exactly the late night partying type and a smattering of acquaintances who had better people to hang out with.

Hajime stopped trying to make his room look spotless about a week into their arrangement, after realizing that Tooru cared a lot less about the state of his room and a lot more about keeping lube and condoms within easy reach.

It became _easy_ , almost natural, and Hajime would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, in some weird, screwed up way.

He’d thought he would find the whole situation significantly more problematic, but somehow letting Tooru fall into his bed and into his arms immediately dispelled any qualms he might have had. There was just – something about him, the way he moved, so comfortable in his own skin, or the way he smiled, as if he knew something that nobody else did, or just… _him_ , in general, that made Hajime’s skin prickle with anticipation, made him lick his lips and empty out his mind until there was nothing but the feeling of Tooru’s skin on his and the bed sheets beneath the both of them.

And so he didn't think at all, just continued tasting and biting and fucking without a single thought but for the way Tooru’s back arched underneath his touch.

-

“Are you going for the drama department’s show?” Tetsurou asks after class one day. They’re walking through the hallways, and just as he speaks another poster of Tooru comes into view – by now Hajime already has that picture burned into the back of his brain, though, so it really just seems unnecessary by this point – and Hajime takes a careful look at Tooru’s unsmiling face before answering.

“Maybe,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

“They say the leading guy’s really good,” Testurou comments, gesturing towards the poster. “They say he’s going to end up landing a professional contract by the time the production’s over.”

“Really,” Hajime hums, and god, he’s gotten so good at acting like he doesn’t care at all lately, hasn’t he?

“Yeah,” Tetsurou continues, oblivious to the war that’s being waged at the pit of Hajime’s stomach. “Oikawa’s his name, I think.”

“Hmm,” Hajime says.

It hurts, to be honest, that he’s found out more about Tooru from a conversation with his classmate than he ever had from all that time they’d spent together.

 _You’re pathetic, Hajime,_ he thinks to himself.

He wouldn’t call that self-deprecating, because it’s actually true.

-

Somewhere between the twentieth or twenty-first time that they’d fucked Hajime started wondering just how much Tooru knew about him. After all – he didn’t know very much about Tooru either.

They didn’t _talk_ , per se. There wasn’t really room for conversation in between it all, but Hajime had managed to grasp some details about Tooru anyway – like that one time he’d walked into Hajime’s room wearing a jersey bearing the name of his high school, and Hajime had figured from there that Tooru wasn’t from around these parts. How he’d figured out Tooru was a drama major was also because of once, when Hajime had texted Tooru to ask if he was free and Tooru had replied with a _Nope, sorry, can’t, got late night rehearsals tomorrow_ , and he’d joined the dots from there.

He wondered if there was anything Tooru could have gleaned about him from his room – the sports jacket thrown over a chair, or the books piled high on his desk.

He wondered if Tooru even cared enough to notice in the first place.

(In retrospect, that was probably the first sign that Hajime had started caring a lot more about Tooru than he’d expected.)

-

In the end, he rejects Tetsurou’s invitation to go to the play with him and a bunch of their other classmates. Instead, he buys a ticket alone and walks into the auditorium early, one of the first few audience members to arrive, settling into his seat right at the front few rows.

He feels hypersensitive, all the little details about his surroundings startling and loud – the scratchy material of the chair underneath him, the blast of air-conditioning that makes the entire room feel far too cold, the dim lighting of the auditorium as people start filing in slowly.

He looks at the program in his hands, reads the synopsis of the play over and over again until the words start to blur. He looks at the headshots of all the actors, with a brief description under all of them.

Tooru’s, of course, is first. It’s a different photo from the one that’s used on the posters – it’s a black and white photo of him, smiling, that same easy smile that Hajime had first fallen for so long ago.

 _Oikawa Tooru_ , it reads underneath, in small, italicized print.

Hajime shuts the program and closes his eyes.

-

There was once, Hajime remembers, that things had gone differently from the usual pattern of meet-strip-fall into each other.

Tooru had been twitchy right from the start, when he’d found his way to Hajime’s dorm room as usual, but his smile had been different, pinched and tight around the corners.

“Is everything okay?” Hajime ventured, because he wasn’t quite sure whether this was still within the territory of _friends with benefits_ , but he couldn’t – he couldn’t just say nothing.

“I’m fine,” Tooru had said, and as if to prove his point, immediately slid onto the bed and started tugging at the hem of Hajime’s shirt. “Let’s fuck.”

“Okay,” Hajime replied, because there wasn’t anything else he could possibly say.

They hadn’t said much after that, but still – it was different, Hajime could feel it, and he was pretty sure Tooru could too. They’d gone slow, something in the air different from the way they’d done it before – previously it had always just been urgent, hurried, as if they were afraid of getting caught.

But this time was different: the slow slide of Tooru’s lips across Hajime’s chest, the way his fingers skimmed across Hajime’s navel, gentle, slow. And when Hajime had thrust up into Tooru, he’d gasped, winding his arms around Hajime’s neck, gasping out Hajime’s name, his voice barely more than a whisper.

When they’d finished, Tooru had fallen asleep right after – the only time when he’d done so. If Hajime had wanted to, he could’ve bundled Tooru into his arms, could have pressed his lips into the crown of Tooru’s head and drifted off like that.

He didn’t, though, and when he woke up in the morning, Tooru was already gone.

-

Hajime doesn’t get the show – it’s one of those weird, abstract theatre pieces that he’d tried watching once, in high school, but never quite understood. There isn’t really a plot to follow, just fragments of dialogue and snapshots of images that are probably meant to convey something bigger, but Hajime’s probably too dumb to get it. Either that or he’s too distracted.

The only thing he really pays attention to is when Tooru first enters – walking onto stage with a breathtaking grace, stopping right at the edge of the stage to look at the audience.

He looks straight at Hajime, and Hajime doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even breathe.

Tooru’s eyes are dark and undecipherable.

The whole auditorium is silent.

Hajime watches as Tooru stills, hands shaking so minutely that it’s barely noticeable, before he takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

-

He doesn’t know why he does, but he waits near the stage door after the show is over. He’s not alone, though – he’s surrounded by fellow friends or family or admirers of the other actors, too, a good majority of them clutching flowers or letters or other gifts in their hands.

He wonders how many of them are here for Tooru.

He thinks that maybe he should leave.

But then the door opens and the actors start filing out, one by one, first the girl that Hajime recognizes as having played opposite Tooru, immediately being swept up by a group of friends the moment she so much as takes a step outside.

The crowd of people disperses gradually, taking their leave as the actors they came here for emerge from the stage door.

Tooru’s the last one to come out.

There’s a good fifteen minutes between his exit and the rest of the cast’s. During that time all the admirers that came to speak to Tooru had left – probably given up, assumed that Tooru had already left.

Only Hajime remains, in the end, pulling his jacket closer around him – waiting.

When Tooru finally emerges, Hajime’s not even looking at the door anymore. He’s leaning against a wall, staring down at his feet, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, which is why he doesn’t notice Tooru at all until he’s standing right in front of him.

“Hi,” Tooru says.

Hajime looks up.

“Hi,” he says in return.

“Did you like the show?”

“I didn’t really get it,” Hajime says. “But you were really good.”

“Thanks, Hajime,” Tooru says, quietly.

They fall silent after that.

Hajime – well, he’s not quite sure why he stayed behind to wait. He hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t considered at all what he was going to say. And now he’s here, standing in front of Tooru, looking up at his face, at a complete loss for words.

What’s he supposed to say? _Please take me back, I don’t care if I’m just another lousy fuck, just let me be around you,_ or _Let’s get together, actually get together this time_ or _I want you, I need you, I think I might actually be in love with you_ – no, none of that is going to work.

“I’m not here to ask you to take me back,” is what Hajime says instead, and regrets it immediately.

“Then why _are_ you here?” Tooru asks. His voice is calm, but deceptively so, Hajime knows. There’s a storm brewing behind those eyes, dangerous and volatile, and Hajime sucks in a breath, preparing himself for whatever – good or bad – is going to happen from here on.

“I missed you,” Hajime says, honestly, letting out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. And it’s surprising just how refreshing it is to get those words out – because they’re the truth, even if Hajime hadn’t realized that was what it was, hadn’t been able to put a name on that feeling even after all that time.

Now, though. Now, he knows.

“I missed you,” he says again. “Not – not _that._ I missed _you._ As a person. Even though you probably didn’t. I came here to tell you that.”

There’s silence again, but surprisingly Hajime feels… strangely at ease, to have finally gotten those words out, said his part to Tooru, gotten some closure. He knew it was hopeless anyway, so this isn’t really that bad a way to end this, and—

“When I saw you, up there,” Tooru says, his voice barely more than a whisper, looking down at his feet, “I was terrified. I thought, _What’s he doing here?_ I thought, _I don’t want to see him, not now_.”

He takes a deep breath, and then steps forward, placing his palm against Hajime’s chest, and Hajime can feel the heat of his skin through the cotton of his shirt.

“I was terrified,” Tooru says. “I don’t know how to – _liking_ , and _loving_ , and being _together_. I don’t – I never knew—”

“It’s okay,” Hajime says. He’s quite sure Tooru can feel just how quickly his heart is beating, but he doesn’t care, reaches up to grasp Tooru’s wrist, keeping his hand in place. “It’s okay, we can – we can try, somehow—”

“I never meant to break up with you,” Tooru says, in a rush. “I didn’t – but I didn’t know what else I could—”

“It’s okay,” Hajime interrupts, silencing Tooru. He lets go of Tooru’s wrist, and Tooru puts his arm down. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter now.”

Tooru takes a breath, tightens the grip of his fingers in the cloth of his pants.

“Tooru,” Hajime says.

Tooru looks up.

Hajime kisses him.

At first Tooru’s stiff and still beneath Hajime’s lips. He doesn’t move, just stays perfectly still.

Then Hajime raises a hand, presses his palm against the curve of Tooru’s check, and like a magic spell the tension in the line of Tooru’s shoulders suddenly breaks. Tooru sighs, opens up, and slumps against Hajime, gripping the cloth of Hajime’s shirt.

“That was our first kiss,” Tooru says, when they pull apart, flushed and breathless, “wasn’t it?”

“Was it bad?” Hajime asks.

“Not really,” Tooru says, and then he smiles, slowly, like he’s still unsure, but there’s a fleeting happiness in his eyes, so it’s okay, Hajime thinks it’s okay. “Maybe we should work on it more, in the future.”

“Okay,” Hajime says. “Okay.”

-

They go back to Tooru’s room, not Hajime’s room – where it all started. The moment Hajime locks the door behind him Tooru’s already pressing him up against the door, sliding his hand under the hem of Hajime’s shirt, but Hajime grabs his wrist again, stills him.

“Let’s take it slow,” Hajime says, and Tooru’s eyes widen just a fraction before he nods.

So – they go slow. Hajime kisses Tooru again, on the forehead, on his eyelids, on his nose, at the corner of his mouth, and then finally on the lips, chaste, gentle, just the gentle brush of lips on lips. He can feel Tooru shivering, and he reaches up, threads his fingers through Tooru’s hair, tries to say _it’s okay_ with the press of his lips and the rhythm of his fingers carding through thick hair.

Then Tooru opens up, slowly at first, letting Hajime run his tongue along the roof of his mouth, sucking on his lower lip, and then Tooru does the same, and it’s good, it makes Hajime still his fingers just to focus on the sensation of ( _finally, finally_ ) kissing Tooru.

They make it to the bed after that, shedding clothes along the way. There’s a strange sense of relief that fills Hajime as he presses Tooru to the bed, kisses him again, deeper this time, until Tooru’s moaning into his mouth, his hands on the back of Hajime’s head.

“Please, Hajime,” Tooru says, and Hajime brushes the hair off Tooru’s forehead.

“Okay,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

He starts off mapping the expanse of Hajime’s chest, hands roaming the dips and valleys that make up Tooru’s body, lips touching where his fingers miss. Tooru stills underneath him, but he keeps going, traces the lines of his neck, the faintly defined muscles of his abdomen, the ridges of his hips.

“Hajime, what are you—”

He doesn’t reply, just moves down, lower, hands skimming across the skin of his thighs. Tooru’s hips twitch underneath his touch, but he ignores it, just nuzzles along his inner thigh, pressing a kiss to the pale skin there.

“ _Hajime_ ,” Tooru says again, more urgently this time, “ _you—_ ”

“Shh,” Hajime murmurs into the juncture between knee and thigh. “Let me do this, please.”

Tooru falls silent again, but when Hajime chances a glance at Tooru’s face his features are pinched, eyebrows furrowed, his mouth hard, and he stops, raises himself up to take a good look at Tooru’s face instead.

“Is this okay?” he asks, brushing his hand along Tooru’s cheek.

“It’s…” Tooru bites his lip, looks away. “It’s okay. I’m just not used to this.”

“Is it good?” Hajime asks again, and Tooru exhales through his nose, turns back to fix Hajime with that same piercing gaze.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes, and Hajime complies.

He drifts back down, switching to the other leg, treating it with the same reverence; stroking the skin with his fingers, pressing kisses to all the edges and angles of Tooru’s body. It’s not – it’s not a race to get each other off, not this time. Hajime’s careful in his slow worship of Tooru’s body, committing to memory the exact geography of his form, all the little imperfections that he’d never stopped to remember before. But now he knows he has all the time in the world to do this – to press Tooru against his sheets and fit his lips against the curve of Tooru’s knee, every body part sacred, no single corner to be missed.

He studies Tooru’s face the whole while, watches what makes him suck in a breath and what makes him flush – more importantly, he studies his reactions, because he needs to know that what he’s doing is okay, that Tooru’s enjoying it, that Tooru understands where Hajime’s coming from, what he’s trying to convey with the press of his lips where words fail him.

He thinks Tooru gets it, though.

It feels like forever before Tooru has a hand on the back of Hajime’s head, tugging at his hair. “Enough,” he says, breathless, “that’s enough, Hajime, I need—”

Hajime silences him with another harsh kiss, and when he pulls away it’s to reach for the lube and condoms he keeps in his bedside drawer. He gets to work quickly, popping off the cap and squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers, warming it up before pushing in, just one finger at first, but Tooru’s gasping and pressing down on it and whimpering, “ _Please_ , please Hajime, please, it’s not enough, _more_ —” and Hajime complies, adding another finger, pushing and scissoring until Tooru lets out a long exhale of pleasure.

It doesn’t take long before Tooru’s whining again, and he arches his back, presses the back of his hand to his mouth, groans, “Stop, Hajime, stop, you can—”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hajime says, pushing in a third finger, but Tooru leans forward, grabs Hajime’s wrist, and Hajime can see how dark his eyes are, his pupils completely blown already.

“Hajime,” Tooru says, his voice even, “I really appreciate your concern but I haven’t been fucked since the last time we were together and I really, _really_ need you inside me _right now_.”

“Oh—” That’s all Hajime needs, and then he’s pulling out his fingers roughly, reaching for the bottle of lube, slicking himself up, and then his hands are on Tooru’s hips, fingers pressing into the skin as he pushes in, slowly, until he’s sheathed completely. He has to still himself, bending down to press his lips to Tooru’s again, because if he doesn’t he’ll be completely lost to the sensation, the overwhelming heat and pressure that he didn’t even know he missed—

“ _Move_ , Hajime,” Tooru growls, wrapping his legs around Hajime’s back and digging his heels in, and Hajime moans, pressing his forehead to the crook of Tooru’s shoulder before he starts to move, pulling out before thrusting back in again.

He doesn’t expect the shout of surprise that Tooru lets out, gasping out Hajime’s name, a desperate cry as Hajime begins to fuck him in earnest, eyes closed and head bowed low as he moves.

“Hajime, _Hajime,_ _oh_ —” And yeah, Hajime remembers this, how loud Tooru gets, the sound of his own name in Tooru’s voice, needy and low, and it makes his rhythm stutter for a moment before he picks it back up, driving into Tooru with a kind of desperation that he hadn’t expected of himself. And god, he’s _missed_ this, missed the intimacy and the press of bare skin against bare skin, missed the way Tooru looks when he’s on the brink of coming and the way he says Hajime’s name, he’s missed this so much, he’s missed _Tooru_ so much—

And then Tooru arches his back, leans forward, and Hajime can feel his breath against his ear as he whispers, fingers clutching at Hajime’s shoulders, “I like you, Hajime, I really like you,” and _oh_ , that’s it, Hajime’s rhythm falters and he holds onto Tooru for his dear life as he comes, the strength of it pulling a shocked gasp out of him, hips jerking uselessly throughout his climax before he stills, panting heavily into Tooru’s shoulder.

“Tooru – Let me, I—” he gasps out, but Tooru’s already jerking himself off, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he brings himself to completion, and Hajime holds him as he shakes through his orgasm, coming messily onto his own chest.

It’s quiet after that, and Hajime smiles weakly, pushing Tooru’s matted hair off his forehead.

“Good?” he says, and Tooru smiles back.

“Of course, Hajime,” he answers, and he leans forward to press his forehead against Hajime’s.

Later that night, Tooru lets Hajime fall asleep in his bed, and they drift off like that, wrapped up in each other, a mess of tangled limbs and a blanket thrown over the both of them. And when Hajime wakes up in the morning, Tooru’s still there, eyes open and a warm smile on his face, and he brushes his hand across Hajime’s cheek, whispers,

“Good morning, Hajime.”

And Hajime knows that things – well, they’re not perfect, but he knows that things are somehow going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> im never writing porn again smut is so hard (pun unintended)
> 
> title from all i wanted by paramore
> 
> EDIT: hello hello!! i'm really broke at the moment so i'm opening up [fic commissions](http://oikawhat.tumblr.com/commissions) \- please check it out, i'll be super grateful if you do xoxo


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